Quiet City
by Kage Chikara
Summary: What if Rorschach met Batman? Watchman/Batman crossover fic from Rorschach's perspective.


Quiet city

Quiet city. Quiet at night. Unusual. Walking the red light district. Women for sale. Can't look at them, quite. Quiet. Looking for trouble.

Gotham's got it all. Big buildings, big crime, big money for the right people in the right places. They told him there are things in the dark that only come out at night and he thought, maybe I would like to see something else the dark is afraid of.

But so far he has just seen more. More humans wallowing in their own filth, more laughing their way to self-destruction. Once in a very great while it occurs to him to put his hand on their shoulder to stop them, but the words fail him and the mindset fails him. No reason. No way. Fall into filth and Rorschach will drown you in it, will shove you under before he'll pull you out.

Turns down an alley and finds it. His skin feels them before his eyes adjust to the darkness enough to see them. Three men. One women. The women is alone, struggling, her breasts bared by the hands on her dress. Filthy. All of them.

He starts to move but the darkness moves first. It blends well. He should tell Nite Owl to change to black. Blends better when moving in darkness. There is a crack, a broken collarbone, an arm, cartilage, screaming.

Rorschach watches in the darkened alleys of Gotham, swaying like a man who has found religion, who is experiencing a revival. Shattered kneecap, wall to man contact and he fades against the wall himself, watching, collecting, remembering the images he will take home tonight.

Strips across the back of the hands, keep them face down until the cops come. Disregarding how useless and corrupt cops are, morally bankrupt little cockroaches staggering along with their eyes closed to all the true badness that grows beneath people like mold.

The girl is taken care of, dressed. She's terrified of her savior, which is intoxicating even to watch and she runs from the alley, back into an abandoned storefront. He gets a glimpse of her outfit and chooses to disregard her. A woman dressed like a whore deserves nothing.

He steps forward but not into the light.

"Dressed up like a night animal. Must be a trend. Know someone who does that, also."

The Batman turns, looks at him. There is a moment, there, a quiet iron assessing moment when two creatures standing in darkness, bathing in other people's filth, look at each other and try to know.

That he didn't kill them tells Rorschach all he needs to know. He wins. Always wins. If he ever found someone who was better at this, he would. Give up? Go home? Walk away? Maybe. Never found anybody. Given up hope there is anybody.

The Batman is assessing him, waiting for him to make—what? A move? A violent action? There is violence seething in the air of Gotham, waiting to ooze from the cracks and the pores.

"Don't want to fight. Roscharch. I fight. Criminals, like you. Maybe." He adds the last because they don't fight the same things. Batman fights the infected. Roscharch fights the infection itself.

Batman looms up, but doesn't move closer, doesn't touch or strike. The eyes behind the mask—it is good you cannot see his eyes. Does wonders for people when they can't see eyes.

"Not in my city," he says. His voice echoes that promise of violence, makes little waves that are hard not to understand. This is someone who understands violence. Good.

Then he's gone, message delivered. Very dramatic. Good technology. Like Nite Owl. Very good.

Rorschach walks over to the three tied up men. They struggle to look up at him. They call him filthy names. It is not a very good defense. Maybe he should not judge. Batman denies himself very well. Very impressive self-control. He could feel that violence beneath the skin, too close to call buried.

But one message has been left. It is his time to leave another.

When he is done, their brains decorate the walls and he acknowledges he may have gotten overdramatic with the effect. But it says what he needs it to say. He pauses one last time to look at the mixing of colors, dark wall and darker blood and smiles because there is no message there, no words or images except what the human mind can create.

Then he turns and walks into the darkness, alone.


End file.
